


Falling Leaves

by belial



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 08:31:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belial/pseuds/belial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian's more attached to the crazy bastard than he should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This, like all of my other fics, is completely FALSE. Sherlock is property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the TV series is property of the BBC.  
> Spoilers/Warnings: None.

The clock ticks along like leaves falling; Sebastian stares from his spot on the long sofa at the hands as they circle the clock face. He touches one of the lacerations along his bare chest, wincing at the pull of the stitches, the slight burn it brings.

He’d never been closer to losing Jim than he had earlier; he doesn’t know where the cock-up started, hadn’t yet had time to care. Deep breaths and the Italian’s hands at Jim’s throat and he’d pulled the trigger, dropping the greaser like a kilo of fat and sinew and grime. Jim spun, ducked, but not fast enough to avoid the laser lights and that’s when Sebastian started running.

He’s not sure how he managed to shove them both through the window of the second-story warehouse, wrapped his body around Jim’s to absorb the crash to the ground and all the glass embedded in his skin. Not sure how he managed to drag Jim’s skinny arse three blocks away as the rest of the team eliminated the Italian’s associates.

His first priority: always Jim.

“’Bastian?”

Sebastian sits up, groans at the way it makes his body hurt. “Boss? Thought the doc gave you something so you could sleep.”

They’re in a safehouse, Jim’s physician long-gone after attending them both. Jim’s in the shadows of the front room, but Sebastian can clearly see the tousle of Jim’s hair, the way his pajama pants hang off his hips and the stark paleness of his chest. He sweeps a gaze over Jim again, says, “Boss?”

Jim moves, steps so lightly that only the years of Sebastian’s training allow him to hear the approach. “Can’t sleep?” the assassin asks.

Jim shakes his head no. He sits by Sebastian’s side, closer than normal _(of course, what is normal to them, Sebastian wonders)_ , and he waits for Jim to speak.

“I saw your face, ‘Bastian,” Jim says, finally. “I saw what you don’t say.”

Sebastian’s too tired, hurts too much to play Jim’s games tonight. He knows it’s not in his best interests to anger his boss, but he also knows he has more leeway than any of Jim’s other underlings. “I don’t know what you’re saying to me,” he admits. He’s never tried to be Jim’s equal, on a mental level. He knows he’s got no chance of understanding the brilliant mind of Moriarity; Sebastian’s a tool, a finely-honed, efficient tool, and he likes it that way. “You’ve got to tell me plain.”

“I’ve known you years,” Jim says. “Seen you angry, seen you tired, seen you thoughtful. Never have I seen you look at me the way you looked at me tonight.”

Sebastian sighs. “How’s that, boss? How’d I look: worried you’d be shot to bits? Furious as hell that he got close enough to put his hands on you? I should’a - ”

“But you did, ‘Bastian. You were there, as you always are, to keep me safe. And you risked your life again, for mine.”

“It’s what you pay me for.”

“But I don’t pay you to look at me like you’re in love with me.”

Sebastian’s breath catches in his chest; he does everything possible not to flinch, but it’s late and he’s exhausted and his body hurts despite the doctor’s pills and patch job. “I don’t…”

Jim’s hand finds its way to Sebastian’s chest, cruel fingers capable of so much destruction tracing over the cuts and bandages with infinite care, and it takes Sebastian’s breath away. “I find I like it,” Jim breathes into the air. “When you look at me like that.”

Silence; Sebastian doesn’t know how to respond, until the military mind kicks in – for actions speak louder than any words he knows, in any language he could say them. He twists on the sofa, mindless of his own discomfort, and looms over Jim, pressing the smaller man back and down against the leather. “Say it again,” he rumbles, low, using his weight to keep the other man still.

But Jim’s not moving, except to tip his head back and to one side as he repeats, “I find I like it, when you look at me like you’re in love with me.”

Sebastian’s mouth finds the pulse point at Jim’s throat, nips the skin there to hear the noises Jim could make. And Jim doesn’t disappoint; he moans, parts his legs for Sebastian’s body to slot between them. “Fuck, boss,” Sebastian mutters. “This is such a bad idea…”

“I’m a genius, ‘Bastian,” Jim says. He nuzzles closer to Sebastian’s chest. “All of my ideas are excellent.” 

And then he bites down at one of the bandages on Sebastian’s body, hard enough to make the assassin see stars. As Sebastian curses, Jim adds, “You should know better than to think my ideas are bad.”

Sebastian laughs openly at the pout on Jim’s face, and when Jim twists his features into a look of distaste Sebastian kisses him, nips the pruned look off Jim’s lips. “You’re right,” he says, licking into Jim’s mouth. “’M sorry.”

“Yes, well… just… don’t… do it again,” Jim snipes back, between kisses. “And stop that!”

“Stop what?”

“Kissing me, to make… me stop talking.”

“I think the only way to make you stop talking is to give you something to put in your mouth.”

Jim stiffens beneath him and Sebastian moves to pull away before the smaller man can retaliate. But as he leans back, Jim reaches up and cups a hand around his neck. “You’d want me to suck you?”

“Christ alive,” Sebastian can’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. “You’ve no idea how beautiful your mouth is, do you?”

And is that…? 

Could it be a…?

Sebastian marvels at the way the consulting criminal blushes beneath him, and can’t help himself to lean down and kiss Jim again. And again, until he realizes how they’re moving against each other, Jim practically humping his leg. “Stop,” he commands, and Jim’s eyes fly open. “I’m not rubbing one off with you like a boy. You’ve got a perfectly good bed going to waste.”

“Are you giving me orders, Colonel?”

Sebastian throws himself into the tiger’s den as he replies, “Yes. Now up.”

The tiger doesn’t strike; in fact, the tiger simply wiggles from underneath him and bounces down the hallway to the bedroom. “Coming?”

“There should be no way you’re feeling so well, after being shoved through a window,” Sebastian calls after him, his body aching as he follows Jim. 

“I’m not thinking about the hurt,” Jim says. Sebastian enters the room and freezes, because Jim’s lost his trousers and is spread naked on the bed like an offering. “I’m thinking about the way you looked at me. The way you’re looking at me now.”

“And am I to assume it’s only me that looks that way?” Sebastian asks, arching an eyebrow at the beautiful man on the bed. “Or are we together in this?”

Jim sits up, closes his legs, eyes Sebastian carefully. “’Bastian, how long have you known me?”

“About three years.”

“And in that time, have I ever taken anyone to my bed?”

Sebastian pushes his pajamas off his hips, crawls onto the bed next to Jim. “I’ve not been by your side every day of the last three years.”

“The answer’s no,” Jim replies, rolling his eyes. “No one.”

It’s good enough for Sebastian, who resumes his position half on top of the smaller man. He slides his fingers up Jim’s ribs, over his nipples, down the flat of his belly; traces the curves of his hips, the roundness of his buttocks, the lithe legs available to him. Jim squirms, but makes no move to evade the inspection; his own fingers reach for the parts of Sebastian’s body he can touch, causing both pleasure and pain as he digs into Sebastian’s arms. “Boss –“

“Jim.”

Sebastian looks up, surprised, but Jim shakes his head. “Jim,” he repeats, and throws himself at Sebastian, making Sebastian grunt. “Slick in the nightstand drawer.”

“And skins?”

Jim nods. As Sebastian leaves the little tube on the bed, Jim unscrews the cap, drizzles the fluid over his own fingers and reaches behind himself. “Jesus Christ,” Sebastian chokes, watching the show. “I’d have…”

“Next time?”

Jim’s a little breathless; Sebastian’s not much better, the adrenaline from the evening and exhaustion and arousal blending together, pushing them both to the finish too soon. “’Bastian…”

Sebastian fumbles the condom on, reaches for Jim but Jim’s shoving at him, forcing him onto his back. “You did the work earlier, it’s my turn now,” he says, straddling Sebastian’s waist with his thighs. “Hold yourself up, won’t you?”

And Sebastian holds his cock…

And Jim seats himself upon it…

And they’re both groaning, moving as though they’ve come together this way a thousand times before. Maybe they have; maybe they’re programmed this way, with the ability to read each other, the ability to sense the other’s moods and strengths and shortcomings and…

Sebastian sits up, changes the angle and Jim grunts, forcing his body to open further for Sebastian’s cock. “Hurry,” Jim orders, pressing his mouth to Sebastian’s. “Can’t last, if you’re going to…”

“Keep moving,” Sebastian replies, biting at Jim’s throat and sucking a mark there. “I’ll follow you over. I’ll follow you anywhere,” he adds, the pleasure of Jim’s body too much to endure his silence any longer. “Come on, Jim. I love you.”

Jim breaks with a cry, pulls back from Sebastian as Sebastian’s biting down, and Sebastian can taste the tang of blood on his mouth as he splits Jim’s skin. “Fuck,” he curses, and comes hard.

They linger there, Jim panting and shaking in his arms, sweat dripping into each wound to make it sting, his body past the point of physical exhaustion but he can’t let Jim go, can’t stop grabbing his biceps to ensure he’s really there. “I’m okay, ‘Bastian,” the smaller man mumbles against his lips. More kisses, then, “You left your mark on me.”

“No one’s going to know it,” Sebastian replies. “Not with all the other bruises and cuts.”

“Then you’ll have to replace it when it fades, don’t you think?”

Sebastian tightens his grasp, causing Jim protest with a whine, and immediately lightens. “You’re sayin’ you want me to leave a mark on you?”

Jim nods, won’t look him in the eye. He can’t stop the stupid grin from overtaking his face. “If you want, Jim. I’ll leave them anywhere you let me.”

“Well, I certainly won’t let you leave them if you look at me like that, idiot,” Jim chides, but the condescension fades by the equally ridiculously-pleased look on his own face. “Honestly, I thought I hired myself a skilled assassin, not a grinning fool… ack!”

Sebastian laughs as he tips Jim over, covering his smaller form and kissing him silent. They tangle that way together until Sebastian’s breathing evens out and sleep tugs at him.

“Love you too, you know,” Jim murmurs, as he burrows as close as he can be into Sebastian’s side.

Sebastian accommodates the squirming, says, “I know.”

They sleep.


End file.
